


Reputation

by lovable_idiot



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Again, Curly Shepard Centric, Curly Shepard being Curly Shepard, Curly has a temper-, Gen, Mentioned other Shepards, One-Shot, Only for a bit tho, Oop, Ponyboy being blissfully oblivious, Smoking, he only makes a small appearence, some mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovable_idiot/pseuds/lovable_idiot
Summary: Curly almost laughed at the irony of it all. He wondered if the Socs felt the same thing a Greaser did when they were on their lonesome, and a bunch of Socs jumped out from their stupid mustangs and chased them down. The fear, the burning question of why, and the horrifying realization that they might not get out.He thought of Johnny Cade. And he gripped the jersey tighter.He wasn’t going to hurt them. But only Curly knew that. Because Curly Shepard had just that, such a deep-rooted and fervent reputation associated with the Shepards’s wildness and aggression, that even these Socs, who didn’t know him but did, wouldn’t move a muscle. Curly knew what he was going to do, but the Socs didn’t.Curly had a reputation. And he damn well knew how to use it.OrCurly knows he has a reputation. It came with being a Shepard. Even after being in the Reformatory for so long, he still knows how to use it.
Relationships: Ponyboy Curtis & Curly Shepard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> (Warnings: Cursing and some Light violence. Also kids smoking.)
> 
> Hi, people who clicked on that story who will actually read this!
> 
> This is my first ao3 post. My first piece for the Outsiders as well. 
> 
> I wanted to explore Curly Shepard’s character a bit, because he seems enticingly interesting to me. So, this is more or a practiced Character Study, as I also wanted to practice writing emotions. Nevertheless, I’ve been wanting to write this for a day or two. 
> 
> Originally, Ponyboy was going to have a bigger role, but then I decided to focus on Curly. Why? Like I said, he’s interesting.
> 
> Plus, I’ll probably be writing a lot of Pony centric things in the future if time allows me, anyway. 
> 
> Welp, thank you if you read this quick blurb! I hope you enjoy!

Curly Shepard took a deep drag of his cigarette. The warming wind tousled his unruly hair as he leaned against one of his buddy’s, Robert’s, car. He let the smoke curl out slowly from his lips, swirling in the wind as it fell, twirling up and disappearing out of sight. Never taking his eyes off the looming, familiar but haunting high school building in front of him, he took a smaller drag- and held it, before blowing heavily like an exasperated bull, watching as the smoke disappeared once again, in record time. 

Tulsa Highschool was as stupidly generic as could be. You go there, and you’ll meet every cliche and group you can find- with the addition of the iron-panted Socials. 

As plain as the school was, stepping inside was like going into a warzone. Keeping your eyes open and alert as you shove through the smoking greasers and the rough-housing Socs, keeping your head up high and a cigarette hanging from your lips, adjusting your leather jacket and sauntering through the teacher-less morning hallways with hopes you won’t be bothered; that your tough persona would throw people off your back. Or, at the very least, that you didn’t care enough to be there when in reality, you just wanted to get to class.

And, for once in his life, Curly was early. Smoking outside and looking tuff like every other greaser on their side of the parking lot.

He blew out more smoke.

On the other side of the lot, the Soc’s were standing by their bright and fancy cars. They laughed loudly, talking boisterously, purposely, maliciously about the greasers across from them. Curly spotted one with a flask, subtly raising a disbelieving eyebrow when wine-colored liquid spilled out when the Soc jostled his arm. 

Curly nudged Robert on the bicep with a leather-clad elbow. The other boy took a minute to stop laughing at something another guy from the Brumley Boys gang, presumably, said, before turning his neck around to face his friend. 

“What’s up, man?” He asked. Curly jutted his chin out to the Soc with the flask, whose neck was tilted back with the container firmly pressed against his lips. He heard Robert make a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a confused snort.

“ ‘Member Larry? River Kings kid that got suspended for bein’ a bit tipsy in class?” Curly described, barely phrasing it as a question. He knew Robert remembered the kid well and vividly, the guy had almost had as good as a memory as Angela. Though his sister mostly uses her head to remember boys that offended her or to bring up year old grudges, and not for anything remotely useful.

“Hell yeah, I remember Larry,” Robert sniggered, waving his hand around with a fond shake of his head, “That guy has got guts, lemme tell yah. Still fuckin’ does.” 

Curly scoffed in agreement, taking a final drag of his cigarette, before rubbing it out on the hood of Robert’s car, ignoring his half-assed protest, before he threw the butt to the ground. 

“Larry got suspended for that shit. What do ya reckon that Soc is gonna get?” Curly drawled. He adjusted himself into a more comfortable leaning position and tilted his head back to stare at Robert, awaiting the answer they both knew already.

Robert lit up another cigarette. Inhaling smoothly, before blowing a smoke ring, and breathing the rest out through his nose.

In the back of his head, Curly laughed- the guy smoked like a goddamned chimney. 

“Well, Curly,” He laughed lazily, “I reckon he’ll get a slap on the wrist. And knowing the dirty Soc kind, he’ll like it, too.”

Curly had to smirk at that, despite how horrifically true it was- one of their kind spits in the streets and it’s off to the cooler. A soc does it, no one even bats an eye.

A greaser decides to get a drink or two in before heading to school, they get booted out for a week unless it was Two-Bit Mathews- that guy was drunk so often, the teachers just thought it was his personality- but when a Soc does it, he gets a slap on the wrist. Not even a slap either- a love tap, to try and show the kids there are repercussions to their actions, even though everyone knows the real truth- especially the Soc that decided to do it. 

Curly ran his hand through his hair and laughed cruelly, before remembering he decided to grease it this morning and making a disgusted face and moving to wipe the grease off on his jeans. He blinked a couple of times and his hand folded into a fist. Then he slammed it lightly onto the car hood below him. 

“Pisses me off,” he mumbled to himself, before going to address Robert again, who was still watching the drunken Soc, “He’ll probably go complain ta mommy ‘bout it too. Then we’ll neva’ see that teacher who slapped him on the wrist ever again.” 

Robert smirked around his cigarette, shoulder’s shaking in silent laughter. “Got that right, Curls,” he paused, and the smirk fell off his face. He rocked his head a bit, “Got that right.”

Curly sighed, and Robert went and joined back into his conversation with one of the Brumley Boys. 

Facing the wind, Curly huffed as the breeze tickled his face and tousled the stray strands of his curling hair. 

It’s been three days since he got back from the reformatory; released a bit earlier on good behavior. In a way, he was glad to be outta there, and back to school almost right away- it was hell this time around, and he got into more fights in the reformatory than he got in Tusla in the past two years combined while in there; and even a new jagged scar that ran from right under his ribs and barely past the waistline of his jeans, and a tiny one above his left eyebrow. Part of him didn’t want to go back- didn’t ever want to go back. If he told Tim or even Angela about those thoughts, they’d probably claim he was the wrong Curly Shepard that got sent back- because even to his family, Curly was sometimes just the ‘troublemaking kid’. 

The other part of him, that was boiling in anger at room temperature, knew that it wouldn’t be long until he did get sent back. 

Watching the Socs live their privileged lives, driving in their mustangs and getting every single good break in their lives, getting off easy and jumping greasers for fun threatened to make his blood boil and explode, until his fists were flying and his boiling blood was pounding through his ears so loud, he didn’t hear the tell-tale sirens of the police racing down the street until it was too late. And then, it was off to the reformatory again, where they won’t even listen to your side of the story. Where they don’t even care about your side of the story.

“Yo, Curls,” Robert’s lazy southern drawl broke out, “You already getting cold feet ‘boat heading back to the devil’s asshole over here?” 

Robert patted his shoulder once, twice, before letting up. Curly turned around best he could, resting his elbow further back on the car hood. He forced himself to laugh.

“Nah man,” Curly denied. He dug around in his jacket for another cancer stick, “Jus’ been so long. ‘S far cry from the damn reformatory, thas for sure.” 

He didn’t find a cigarette, but he didn’t want to get one from someone else.

The Brumley boy laughed harshly and abruptly. Robert frowned and Curly was confused for a moment before his upper lip twisted into a snarl. He knew that tone; it was nothing short of mocking. Curly’s fingers twitched.

“Aw, Curls,” the guy uttered, and Curly twirled his head back to stare him in the eye. He really wanted to sock him in the face, “it ain’t that different from your place away from home. Fights,” he took a step closer to Curly, and the other boy straightened up off the car, “...disgusting food...we even gots a schedule,” at the end of his sentence, the boys were chest to chest; neither breaking eye contact. The Brumley guy chortled, and his laugh reminded Curly of a manic hyena.

The tension got so thick so quickly that a couple of other greasers peered over at the two. A Brumley Boy and a Shepard, must’ve been quite the spectacle, thought Curly, barely keeping his dangerous poker face.

“Woah, man, lay-” Robert began, before the guy stuck a hand into his face and shoving him back, effectively silencing him. Curly’s buddy went stumbling back a few steps but he didn’t lose his balance. 

This time, Curly didn’t hold back his audible growl, low and furious. He shoved his hands into the Brumley Boy’s chest, ignoring the slight look of surprise on his features, and he went toppling back a couple of feet. Curly stepped closer as he regained balance, noticing with a disgusted frown that the other guy was an inch or two taller than himself. 

Curly wasn’t that tall regardless; more like average, but it still pissed him off.

“Yeah?” Curly glared into his eyes, lips still snarling and fists clenched at his sides, “My home away from home? Well, if I liked it so much, I’d reckon you and your sorry excuse for a gang try it sometimes too, ‘stead of fleein’ wit’ your tail between your legs at the first sign a’ trouble. ‘Cause I think if ya’ll manned up a bit and stuck to your own, you’d like it just as much as I fuckin’ do.” 

The Brumley boy was growing angrier by the second, looking at Curly like he personally called his mom a prude as he punctuated his last few words with a couple of harsh pokes into his chest, lungs heaving and words absolutely streaming venom, all up in his face. 

The two were silent for a moment; nobody blinked. They were more than a few Greasers watching at this point. Fellow Brumley boys standing up straight with vigilant eyes, waiting for a fist to be thrown. Others leaned against anything that they could find, looking for a fight they can join or jeer at. Even a couple Socs that Curly noticed when he glanced at the other side of the lot were staring, eyes practically begging for a chance to get a few hits on a couple of Greasers before school started. 

Curly licked his lips, and grinned in a what’s it gonna be? It’s your move, Greaser, kinda way. 

His eyes flickered down to his shoulder, that was tightening and rearing up and Curly just had to smirk as he watched. Just got back from the reformatory, and here he was; already getting into his first fight on the outside. Hell, he was released on good behavior; they definitely wouldn’t be glad to take him back now.

Curly flexed his muscles and prepared himself for an incoming attack. His blood felt like it was burning, pounding harshly in his ears and fingertips- so loud he couldn’t hear anything except his own breathing. So distracting that he couldn’t keep his eyes on anything except the Brumley boy.

He was prepared. All the anger he needed to fight was at the ready, and he let his feet subconsciously fall into a fighting stance. 

Curly saw his opponent raise his arm slightly, and in turn, so did his. And then, just as the Brumley boy stepped forward, Robert placed himself in between them.

Adrenaline replaced the boiling anger, and Curly almost jumped on the guy to make sure the punch never hit Robert; but instead of moving, the arm stiffly fell down to his side. 

Robert was shorter than both Curly and the Brumley boy, so if Curly wasn’t so damn angry at that moment, he would’ve been smiling at the sight of his friend sizing the other man up.

But he was. He was so angry he felt like his insides were going to burst. 

Robert glared at the Brumley boy for a second, before finally speaking. “Lay off him, man,” he begged, extending an arm back to where Curly was standing, “Kid just got out of the reformatory, Tim’ll kill him if he gets into a fight. May not matter to you now, but it’ll sure as hell matter ta you when Tim calls a rumble against your gang for getting his kid brother packin’ back to the reformatory so damn quick! So use your goddamned head and cool it!” 

Curly saw Robert shake his head angrily, and before he knew what was happening, the older teenager was dragging him away from the circle. He looked around and saw that everyone went back to what they were doing before like nothing happened. Even the Socs- and that just made the crazy-haired boy more hostile.

Robert let go of him when they were on the other side of the car. He opened the door as Curly situated himself against the side front. Robert grabbed their bags and tossed Curly’s to him with more force than necessary. Curly caught it.

His friend groaned and slammed the door shut, before whirling on the silent boy. 

“Jesus fuck, Curls!” He exclaimed in a barely contained whisper, “you just got out, what the hell are you doin’, startin’ another fight? I know ya Shepards are insatiable when it comes ta trouble, but Jesus. Tim’ll skin ya if you get into a fight again. He’s already pissed enough as it is!”

Curly’s face scrunched up. Of course, he knew that- and dammit, of course, he didn’t want to go back to the reformatory. 

Before he could speak, Robert interrupted, “I don’t mean ta lecture you, but do your buddies a favor and stay out of trouble for a couple of months, jeez. I get that you have a tough reputation to uphold, but chill wit’ it. Ya savvy?” 

With that, the bell rang, and Robert stomped off before he could answer. Curly knew he made the guy angry, when he wasn’t wise-cracking jokes or poking fun at anyone. As Robert walked off and the Bell finally rang, Curly laughed at himself. 

The blood pumping in his ears disappeared as he finally calmed down. And all he could think about was how much Robert was right. 

He was a dirty, troublemaking, Shepard. And he had a reputation to uphold. An uncaring, tough, reputation that was set in stone the moment his brother became the fierce gang leader he still was, and would always be. 

But a reputation was just words, whispered around town until everyone associate’s you with it, and nobody ever questions you.

Curly Shepard had a reputation. But he could choose if he wanted to act on it or not.

As he followed the crowd of students rushing to the now-opened front doors, he held his head high and sauntered uncaringly. In his peripheral vision, he saw a couple of Socs pushing around a small, familiar-looking Greaser as he tried in vain to get inside, clutching a book with his eyes downcasted as the Soc’s pushed him around like they were playing a fucked up game of human pinball. 

Curly didn’t stop. His reputation said that he didn’t care.

He didn’t hear the jeers and taunts they were throwing at the boy when he finally got into the school building, anyway.

* * * 

Throughout the school day, Curly was bombarded by other Greasers. Most of them sarcastically congratulating him on his failed escapades, some even telling him that there happy he’s back, in other words. 

It was during lunch where he heard about something that threatened his temper to spill out for the second time that day. He was in the lunch line, standing near a table that was occupied by a group of Socs wearing school-colored varsity jersey’s. The most annoying kinds of Socs. 

As he got closer and closer to the register, he could hear their conversation better. It wasn’t like he was normally an eavesdropper, but he was the only one out of his buddies who didn’t bring something of their own to eat, so he was stuck in line. Alone and bored. He approached, and his ears immediately tuned into the middle of their conversation.

“...Who’s the heck is Dallas Winston?” One of them, with a neatly cut head of brown hair, asked.

“Really? You didn’t hear about Dallas? Damn, he was a Greaser who finally got what he deserved, a couple of months ago. It was all over the papers, man,” one of them said. Curly looked away, he heard about Dallas from Tim when he got back, but he heard about Johnny Cade from simply reading it on the paper. His brother had kept the newspaper issue.

He read about Ponyboy too. And god, he felt bad for his old friend. He couldn’t even imagine it, having your best bud and a close gang member die right in front of your eyes, ripped away from you like that before you even had a chance to process it. He wondered where the other greaser was, before shaking his head. Knowing Ponyboy, the kid probably had his head stuck in a book somewhere. From as long as the curly-haired boy could remember, he’s always been like that. Air-headed and reading a book, blissfully unaware of anything and everything around him. He envied him, sometimes, because Curly had to focus on every single thing rather than nothing like Ponyboy seemed to do; it was how he grew up.

Having to listen for every slight noise, always paying attention to his surroundings and being so aware that he couldn’t not be. But Ponyboy could get lost, Ponyboy could relax. He could be happy in his own head, day-dreaming and thinking about nothing, and not paying attention until something got right in his face- while Curly heard the sound of footsteps, and he’s immediately on guard. 

Curly shook himself out of his thoughts and stepped up in line. He hated Socs and their way of thinking. But he couldn’t go pick a right with them. It wouldn’t change anything, anyhow. Just like the rumble, that he didn’t get the pleasure of joining. 

He started listening back in.

“Wasn’t it one of those Curtis’s fault that ole’ Bobby got murdered though? The one with the weirdest name? Pony..pony-kid or something?” One of the Socs murmured distractedly.

Curly froze. 

“Nah, Rich,” another one said like it was obvious, “It was Cade’s. He’s the one who stabbed him. All because Bob was tryna have a bit of fun. Guess the kid was too high-strung to figure pokin’ fun from trying to kill somebody,” he paused to take a bite of his expensive-looking sandwich, “Heard his parents abused him, too. Probably thought he was trash just like everyone else did. As for the Curtis kid...can’t believe he’s still here without any repercussions. I mean, hero my ass. This whole thing still pisses me off, and it’s been what? Five, six months?” 

Curly felt his blood boil, and his vision tinted red. He felt his fingertips pulse as he gripped the inside of his jeans. There was blood punching his brain, pounding against his eardrums so had he thought his head was going to explode.

The flimsy bottle that held his temper threatened to break, but he wouldn’t let it spill.

Curly stepped out of line Subtly, moving behind a couple of people as silently as he could manage. He got a few weird looks, but they were immediately silenced by a glare.

The one Soc, with the Brown hair, seemed to roll his eyes. “You hate em’ so much, why don’t you do something about it. Find the kid after school or somethin’. I’ll tag along, always looking to get some justice against those Greasers,” he paused, and Curly was sure that he had never wanted to pummel someone so badly, “They think they can get away with everything, huh?”

“Yea, I’ll go too, I guess,” Rich said with a careless shrug, “Have nothin’ better to do.” 

The fourth and last Soc just sighed. “Man, It was months ago! Are you guys that mad that you’ll go beat on a..what is he, a Freshman? C’mon,” he trailed off. The others weren’t swayed. The blonde Soc, the one who started it all, huffed. He looked mildly annoyed, before shrugging off the expression and replacing it with indifference. 

“Your choice, man,” Blondie shrugged. And like that, the subject was dropped. The Socs probably went back to normal conversation, like they hadn’t just made a threatening promise to hurt one of Curly’s closest friends- not that he would admit it anywhere else than his own head. He thought they started talking about some broad, but by that time, he was already out of the Cafeteria, striding down the almost empty halls with a cool and collected face; when really, there was a simmering rage just underneath, threatening to slowly but surely, boil over and explode.

He never got his lunch, but his growing anger was enough to fill him.

* * *

After lunch, Curly couldn’t focus at all.

He had kept an eye out for Ponyboy all day after his eavesdropping date with the Socs, but he couldn’t find the kid anywhere. It was his third block when he realized that he wouldn’t see him where he was because Pony was all the way on the other side of school. The smart kid side, where all the Socs dwelled. 

‘Well, shit,’ Curly thought as he scribbled down a sentence of his notes, as his History teacher rambled on and on about something that was probably important. But Curly had something more important on his mind, and that was just how the hell he was going to get to the other side of the school to catch the good for nothing Socs before they could get the upper hand and get to Ponyboy first. 

He absentmindedly twirled his pencil around and tapped his fingers on his desk. Knowing the Socs, they probably already knew exactly where the Greaser was. Maybe they were dumb, but they weren’t stupid when it came to jumping Greasers; that was the only thing that gave them happiness in their world. 

‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘why does Pone have to be so damn smart. This would be so much easier if he was on the dumb side of the building. But noooo…..’

Curly started bouncing his knee. He hated Socs, and he wanted to beat the ones who were talking badly about Johnny and Dallas. No, he didn’t know him well. But his friend did, and they were still Greasers, but now they’re dead. And you don’t talk bad about people who were six-feet under. And you don’t talk bad about people a Shepard thinks of as a close friend. 

Curly was a Shepard, for god’s sake- he didn’t know why he was worrying so much. He’d find the Socs, and he wouldn’t fight them. After all, Curly had a reputation. He figured it was time to use it to his advantage.

He did find the Socs first, too.

After rushing out of his last block like a bat out of hell, Curly raced across the school. He already felt his anger rising and blood beginning to pump wildly in his ears as he skidded to a stop around corridors and wildly shoved through other teenagers equally excited to finally get out of school. His hair swished around; the grease was drying and it had less of a stick, so more and more of his curls had been popping up. And now with this extra movement and wind, as he sprinted, he had no doubt he looked like a madman. 

But with a Shepard Reputation, nobody questioned it. 

He was rounding one of the corners when he finally skidded to a stop. He ran across the school in record time- Ponyboy would be proud, he did track, didn’t he? 

Curly almost marveled at how clean it was as opposed to the other side. ‘Like Socs,’ Curly thought bitterly, reminiscing about how many Greasers were probably beaten up in these very hallways; where not even the teachers would oppose the Socs, ‘Clean but deadly.’ 

He put his hands on his knees for a couple of seconds and caught his breath. When he felt like he could breathe again, he scratched the palms of his hands on his jeans, and ran a hand through his now-not-very greasy hair, hoping to tame it a bit, before thinking better of it. 

The Shepards were known for their wild hair, almost as well as they were known for their wild personalities. Tim, with his furious and dangerous reputation as a fierce gang leader, Angela with her dark and piercing gaze and way to make anyone she wants do her bidding, and Curly, with his exuberant and hood-like escapades that were known along the East Side. 

So, Curly lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his mouth as he took a drag. Uncaring and dangerous, wild and fierce. The Shepard way. 

And then, he heard them, right before he saw them.

The Socs turned the corner; still wearing their eye-sore varsity jersey’s. The kept talking until the blonde one’s eyes met Curly’s own burning orbs. The wild-haired boy took a deep drag of a cigarette, taking the burning weed out with light fingers, and blowing the smoke slowly from his parted lips. He popped the cigarette in his mouth, sucking it like it was a piece of candy, and letting the smoke out of his nose. Rolling his neck to the others, he smirked.

“Evenin’, boys,” he said sultrily. The middle Soc stepped forward, and Curly’s eyes dropped to the loafers he was wearing. But he didn’t laugh; he kept a poker-face and flicked his eyes back up.

“The hell are you doing on this side of the building, Shepard? You’re ruining the nice hallways here with your dirty tennis shoes,” he snapped, gesturing to Curly’s worn down sneakers. Curly glanced down again, before raising an eyebrow at the Soc.

He inhaled the smoke, blew a smoke ring, and let the rest of the smoke out. Surveying the hallway, Curly rocked back and forth on his heels. Nobody was around.

“Huh. I reckon you know who I am, then?” Curly drawled; putting extra emphasis on his southern accent. 

This time, Rich moved up. He seemed cocky. 

“Who the hell doesn’t?” He blurted, pausing to gaze at Curly like he was a discarded bottle on the side of the highway. Rich continued, “You’re a troublemakin’ Shepard. Dirtiest Greaser kind there is. But you probably already know that, don’t ya?”

Curly laughed and made a show of extinguishing his weed on a shiny locker. He flicked his hand, and the butt fell to the floor. 

“Glad ta hear it,” he commented breezily, “Ya know me then, huh? How much of a’ dirty delinquent I am? Can ya speak for me? Because you claim ta’ know me, but I really don’ think ya do.” 

Rich stepped closer, and Curly felt his blood boiling, steaming right beneath his icy exterior; threatening to burn it up. There was blood rushing in his ears, pounding and pulsating, and Curly threw on a crazed smirk.

“Well, yeah. You ain’t nothin’ Shepard. What you do says everything about you,” Rich scoffed with squinted eyes and a set jaw. 

Curly put his hands up and wiggled his fingers tauntingly, watching as Rich took another step to him. The corners of his lips twitched wider, and his eyes crinkled in the corner. Curly felt his heart pounding; all he could hear was his pulsating ears. And he thought it was exhilarating. 

“Nah,” Curly quipped, “I reckon you don’t know me. Y’wanna know why?” 

Rich chuckled and leaned back to laugh with his buddies. Curly’s face twisted and this time, he was the one who stepped closer. 

The Soc seemed oblivious to this because he turned back to the angry Greaser and shrugged over a mocking laugh. “Yea, humor me, Greaser. Why?” 

As soon as he finished speaking, Curly surged forward off of his left foot and wrapped his hands in his jersey. Rich’s eyes widened as he was slammed back first as hard as Curly could muster. Rich called out in surprise as he collided with the lockers. His loafered feet dangled as curly held him up, purposely digging his back into the metal folds of the locker. 

The other two Socs surged forward but stopped abruptly with comically wide eyes, so un-soc like that Curly’s nose twitched as he held back a grin.

Curly held his switchblade at arm’s length; the blade glinting in the light that shone in from the windows across from them. The socs saw it, Rich saw it, and Curly knew because the boy he had in his grip stopped struggling, and the other two just stared. Helplessly. 

Curly almost laughed at the irony of it all. He wondered if the Socs felt the same thing a Greaser did when they were on their lonesome, and a bunch of Socs jumped out from their stupid mustangs and chased them down. The fear, the burning question of why, and the horrifying realization that they might not get out. 

He thought of Johnny Cade. And he gripped the jersey tighter.

He wasn’t going to hurt them. But only Curly knew that. Because Curly Shepard had just that, such a deep-rooted and fervent reputation associated with the Shepards’s wildness and aggression, that even these Socs, who didn’t know him but did, wouldn’t move a muscle. Curly knew what he was going to do, but the Socs didn’t. 

Curly had a reputation. And he damn well knew how to use it.

He stared into Rich’s fearful eyes as he slowly, deliberately pressed the underside of the knife into his throat. His throat pulsed as he swallowed and tried to move away, but Curly held him there. 

For a moment, nobody moves. And only Curly breathes before he finally speaks.

“You don’t know me, Soc,” he spat, pulling Rich back and slamming him back into the locker. He kept the switchblade firmly pressed onto the expanse of his throat, “ ‘cause if ya did, you’d know I don’ take too kindly to assholes threatening what’s mine,” he paused to stare at the other gawking Socs, “Ponyboy Curtis?” 

Horrific realization crossed their faces, and Curly bit the inside of his cheek to make the flare of angry satisfaction that rose up go away.

Curly growled, “Pone’s under my protection. You mess wit’ him- wait, no. You even ‘side ta look at ‘im,” he paused to press down on the switch harder, smirking when Rich squirmed, “you won’t just be dealin’ wit’ me. You’ll be dealing with me, Angela Shepard, Tim Shepard, and the whole entire Shepard gang.”

Curly alieved the pressure on the blade. His eyes glared up into Rich’s. Then to the others. When he turned his attention back to Rich, he shoved him one more time before stepping back. 

“Ya savvy?” He lowly growled out. Curly glared at him through his eyebrows; eyes practically daring the Socs to attack him, to say something. 

And they almost did. Until Blondie muttered a defeated this isn’t over, Grease, and dragged a stunned Rich away, with the last Soc striding right behind them.

When they were out of sight, Curly flicked the blade back into his switch and shoved it deep into his jean pocket, and began walking in the opposite direction. He descended a staircase and smiled- his reputation really did come and handy. 

As he strode down the empty hallway, he came to a stop in front of the library. He peered through the glass, eyes lighting up when they met a mop of light, reddish-brown hair. 

Ponyboy Curtis was packing up his books when Curly strode in. His head snapped up, and Curly smiled genuinely when Pony’s green eyes lit up. 

“Baby Curtis!” He exclaimed with a wave. The librarian gave him a dirty look that he shrugged off. Ponyboy called out an equally as excited greeting, and Curly felt his spirits lift. 

He felt smug too. Maybe the Socs will call a rumble against the Shepards, but if they knew what was good for them- they wouldn’t. All that mattered to him is that they wouldn’t bother Ponyboy. He couldn’t stop them from talking smack. But he stopped them from taking action. 

His reputation had taken care of that.

Curly was a Shepard, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are appreciated! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! :D
> 
> Also I apologize for any mistakes. I proof-read this once, but I do use Grammarly-


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